Waking up is when it all hits the hardest. That moment when your eyes open and your mind fully enters reality. It could be grogginess. It could be that I’m a horrible morning person. It could be not seeing her when I wake up.

i think part of it is the dream world is fun. I’m happy, or excited. I whatever I’m doing in my dreams are far more interesting and preferable to my real life. Ten I wake up, and I have to deal with real life all over again.

The further I get from morning, the better I feel. Coffee kicks in. I become preoccupied with day tomdaynerrands. Talk to people. Email. Facebook. Dinner with friends. It gets better, as activity and people fill the day. And I wonder if that’s why mornings are so awful for someone newly single, because that’s when we feel the most alone.

I like to think of myself as a story teller. In my opinion, telling stories is the second oldest profession in the world; way back in time, a caveman had sex, then afterwards he told all his friends about it. Knowing what I do about men and sex and stories, his version of what happened was also probably largely fictitious.

When I’m not paying the bills or trying to look respectable, my real vocation is telling stories to people. It can be through plays (my main focus), or essays, or blogs, or comics. It doesn’t matter. It’s what I do and what I love, and when I’m telling a story I’m at my best and my most content.

The functions of a story or manifold. Entertainment. Also making connections with the world around you. And it’s also about memory. One thing which haunts me is how much I’ve forgotten. How many wonderful moments from childhood have been lost to the cruel effects of time? My first taste of ice cream. My mother comforting me when I was crying. Important lessons my parents taught me. The first time I was entranced by a beautiful face. They’ve all been lost, even if their effects remain part of the programming of my identity.

Sometimes this memory loss, and the inability to connect, happens on a global, historic scale. It was part of my motivation for writing Don Quixote at Tiananmen Square. Thousands of people died, more had their lives ruined. People were shot and maimed in the middle of one of the largest cities in the world. And yet, most Chinese citizens under the age of twenty have no recollection this ever happened. Government propaganda has wiped the collective memory clean. Outside of China, The June 4th Incident has been a beacon for human rights violations committed by the Chinese government. Inside China, the event has been wiped clean by a ruling body intent on keeping up appearances.

So I want to keep this story alive. And that terrible tragedy in Tiananmen Square seems to have connected with others, as current events demonstrate. The sacrifice of those people, whose only crime was believing in an ideal, cannot be forgotten. It must be preserved, and the event must find a connection with people today.

Don Quixote was a man so in love with stories that he was carried away by them (yes, I know, literary understatement of the year). He read so many books about heroic knights that he believed he was one of them. Although the facts show that most actual knights were violent teenagers who spent most of their time living on subsistence farming. Of course, Don Quixote’s ideals were out of synch with reality. The events were comic, but ultimately tragic. Still, I think he remains an endearing figure because he was inspired to dream larger than life. Stories gave him a purpose and energy. He’s an example of the power literature can have on an individual, even if in his case the results were misguided.

What would he see, how would he react if he were at Tiananmen Square in 1989? And what could we learn if that happened?

Storytelling can connect people in a way nothing else can. It can connect individuals, groups, ideas. It can keep history alive and preserve their memory. To all the writers and actors and poets and artists, I want to say that I love what you do. You may not have a house in the Hamptons and two kids in Harvard, but you are giving people meaning and enriching lives. You gave me hope and knowledge and a respite from loneliness. You enabled a connection with my family, as when my father read me my first nursery tale; an event which may been forgotten, but which still resonates with me today.

It doesn’t even have to be the next great novel. Just find a loved one, maybe someone you’ve neglected too long, and tell them about your life and what you’ve been up to. Nothing fancy. Share your personal experiences. A life unshared is a life half lived. Don’t give up. Keep at it.

Writer’s block has an an equally destructive brother. It’s one thing when you can’t think of anything to write. It’s another when you over write something. Take a perfectly good piece, then add and revise till whatever gem of an idea you had is covered and distorted by the inability to let something go. It’s like taking a perfect piece of rib eye steak and seasoning to the point where you can’t taste the meat. Overwriting something can be as destructive as anything else for a writer. There are a few explanations for this. One is insecurity. Myself, or any other writer, doesn’t trust that the piece is good enough as is, and feels the need to pad with more “brilliance,” even when nothing is required. Another, perhaps related, cause is a lack of perspective. The writer can no longer see what is in front of them clearly, and can’t tell that the piece is good because they’ve become so inured to the piece.

For some advice on the matter, I turn to Eddie Van Halen.

To people who dismiss Van Halen as just mindless party rock, I would say that being creative is being creative, no matter what you’re doing. their goals may be to just have a fun time, but they also know what they’re doing. Yes, Van Halen’s music lacks ambition. Perhaps the one facet which keeps Van Halen one notch below the rock greats, such as Led Zeppelin and Queen and the Who, is that Van Halen never tried anything to take the music to the next level. There was no ambitious concept album with multiple movements. No experimentation or fusion of folk music. No epic songs that ran over five minutes. But you can’t ignore the craftsmanship. It’s just dessert, but dessert on the same level as Jack Torres or Bouchon Bakery.

I read an interview with Eddie Van Halen. Aside from talking about playing guitar and why his current lead singer is way better than his previous singer (alternate David Lee Roth and Sammy Hagar, ignore Gary Cherone if you ever remember him) he actually talked about his creative process. He said there are three basic steps; inspiration, creation and release. I don’t remember if he used the first two words specifically. But I do remember the equivalent meaning, as getting the idea, setting it down on tape and refining what you have. What struck me was the final phase, the release. He said it was an important step, and one that he only recently began to appreciate.

It was odd to hear the California Guitar God talk about the creative process so seriously.

Anyway, what struck me about Eddie’s interview was the idea of release. Letting go of an idea as a means of writing a song. Unfortunately, the interviewer seemed more interested in asking questions about what strings EVH uses and his sspeaker preference than futhering queries about hte mysterious creative process. EVH does emphasize the importance of release. Maybe someday someone will ask him to clarify. His statement also reminded me of an Indian proverb someone once told me, “All creativity comes from forgetting.”

Letting go can be a mysterious but powerful tool. It may explain why I never see a typo in my blog until I’ve published it. Or why I seem to get my best ideas when I’m not at the desk writing. Somtimes, the idea will hit as soon as I get up from the computer to grab a root beer. Why does it happen this way? Who knows.

I do know that I’ve been plugging away for months writing Don Quixote at Tiananmen Square. Unlike other plays, I have a group of people interested in producing this one. I’m actually writing something with a production at the end. So that means a deadline. Which means that I can’t write a few pages, go away, come back days later and pick up where I left off. It’s been a constant writing process.

After finishing the second draft, I did walk away from the piece, very purposefully. I felt as if every time I read it I couldn’t even see it anymore. My brain had just burnt out on writing something that had anything to do with Don Quixote or the Tiananmen Square massacre.

So I spent about a month not writing any plays. I did write, and have done some work for the good people at infinite-ammo.net. Then I got a call from my director, Melissa, asking to have some meetings about the play and where everyone was going. So I picked up the play again . . . more accurately, I looked around the living room and finally found the play . . . and read it. And the interesting thing is, things about hte play became glaringly obvious. A lot of it I liked. But there were some sections where I said to myself, “Why the hell did I do that?” It was like waking up sober after a night of partying and seeing the mattress crammed into the shower. What was I thinking, and what God forsaken moment of inspiration make this seem like a good idea?

Anyway, letting go. Forgetting. Putting some distance away from a piece. Hard work is good and all, but sometimes you have to go out and play. And when you play, there’s nothing better soundtrack than Van Halen.

The transition to autumn brings a palpable yet definite change in the air, a feeling which lies somewhere between the regions of nostalgia and bittersweet. What I notice is the sudden lack of heat and humidity. Plants begin to whither and leaves start to fall, just as old sweaters and light jackets are resurrected from dusty storage bins.

For myself and about 11,000 other people, this fall also marks another transition. September 14th marked my last day as a Borders employee, as the book retail chain shut down for good, the last shelves and fixtures sold off pice by piece to liquidators. It’s still an odd feeling to wake up in the morning (or actually afternoon, I have to catch up on a lot of sleep) and have nowhere to go.

I was called in to work early on Wednesday. The feeling was that there wouldn’t be enough books to stay open till ten. And when I got in that morning, I was shocked by how little was in fact left. About nine-tenths of the shelves were empty and taped off to the public. The last dregs fill up two tables and about five sparse shelves. One or two employees were at the registers, but everyone else just mingled about.

Our general manager had assigned theme days, and in a move that would make Fellini proud, this last day was “Carnival Day.” Brightly colored pigtails and balloons. Cotton candy. I wore a burgundy short sleeve collar shirt (oddly the same color as the company’s logo) with a black and white polka dot tie, in my view kind of like a metrosexual hipster carny. There was even a toy pony. Really, there couldn’t have been a more appropriate ending. The theme resonated on so many levels for the last day of this chain, and as you look further into the layers of meaning it became both more resonant and depressing.

But like every other day I spent there, my coworkers kept it fun. We gathered up the packing tape and made a giant make-shift ball, which we threw and kicked around the empty sales floor. Everyone was on a sugar high from the cotton candy and pixie sticks. Endless photographs were taken.

I received endless texts asking me how I was holding up. I didn’t have time to reply with how sad I was, I was too busy having fun. That’s how it always was. As bad as things got at work, I couldn’t always look to the person working next to me to crack a joke or act like a clown.

The GM made a final speech. Plans were made to meet at a bar. And I clocked out for the last time. And that’s when it hit. You see, there was a security guard named Lionel Holder. An immigrant from Guyana, where he used to be a police officer. Semi-retired, he worked for a while at the front door of our Borders, deterring shop lifters. Which wasn’t hard for him. Even though he was older with grey hair, he was still a massive human being. Big shoulders and a head taller than everyone else, with a deep, booming baritone of a voice. I’ve written about him previously (see phantomasianman.livejournal.com). I would leave for work and end up spending over an hour talking to him. One of the nicest, avuncular guys I knew. Unless you were caught stealing. I’ve seen people break into a sweat when he stopped them for suspected shoplifting. Actually, most of the time when the alarms went off, it was for an innocent reason, and Lionel would ask politely, “excuse me sir, kindly let me deactivate teh alarm for you.” Only he looked so intimidating that people would still freak out.

Lionel passed away a few years ago from a brain hemorage. It was a couple of weeks for everybody, because everybody loved him. People would start crying in the middle of work. Coworkers who hated each other would hug one another. It was a dark time for everyone.

Fast forward to last week. Rosie called me up and asked if I’d left behind a dark blazer. I said not to my recollection. When I got to work on Wednesday, I saw the blazer she talked about.

“Rosie,” I said. “That’s Lionel’s old jacket.”

She looked shock, as years old but poignant memories came back unexpected. “You should keep it,” she said. It’s a few sizes too big for me. When I wear it, I feel like a little kid going through his dad’s closet. But he was my friend, and it seemed like the right thing to do.

So I took it with me after I clocked out. After nine years of working for the same company, I was leaving for good. And I can never duplicate the good, sometimes great, sometimes terrible times I had at Borders. I’ll keep in touch with friends, but that shared experience will be gone. Laughter that comes after a grueling, ego shattering day at work forms a bond that is hard-earned. Being able to relate completely to a roomful of people, who knew exactly what I had just gone through, at any given moment is a wonderful relationship that I took for granted. Now that the job is over, those situations won’t repeat themselves.

And over my shoulder I carried an immense dark jacket, once filled by a great man and now empty. Lionel won’t be coming back. But I could carry out a piece of him, just as I carry a piece of everyone I had the pleasure to work with. I can only hope they feel the same about me.

“Don’t run, man,” Lionel once said to me. I told him I didn’t have time to talk, as I had an appointment right after work. He said, “You have to walk. You run too fast, you miss the good things in life.” It feels like he said that yesterday. He passed away years ago, but it still feels like yesterday when I talked to him. So I walked out of the store, slowly, with dignity. I walked with my head high, looking forward as I soaked in the moment. I walked, proud of my time there, grateful for the people I met. I walked to prove that Lionel was right when he said that. And he still is.

You’ve probably seen the trailer or the commercial. An airborne deer gets a flying kick in the face that sends it spinning out of control. This promises the type of left field, over the top action that was so entertaining in the Evil Dead movies and Kung Fu Hustle. The image belongs to the film Detective Dee and the Mystery of the Phantom Flame. The title, overlong and melodramatic, also promises pulpy b movie enjoyment and silliness. Both however turn out to be red herrings. A “red herring” is a phrase used in mysteries, meaning a false or misleading clue. Because Detective Dee is in fact a mystery.

Basically, the plot involves Detective Dee, who apparently is an actual historical figure, a ranking official of the Tang Dynasty. Years ago he was accused of treason and imprisoned. But after a few people spontaneously explode into flame, the Empress decides to release him in order to solve the mystery of the . . . well, the phantom flame.

I won’t give away much more of the plot. Except to say that everything is plot driven as opposed to action driven.

Because this movie involves Asian people who punch and kick, there are the inevitable comparisons to Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. In fact, this movie has more in common with Robert Downey Jr.’s Sherlock Holmes, a detective story interrupted occasionally by an action scene. There’s also a lot of Dr Who in the filmic DNA of Detective Dee’s character. Both are kind, compassionate, smart, and observant to the point of near telepathy. And where the Doctor had his sonic screwdriver, Dee has his Dragon Mace.

The Dragon Mace is probably one of the most inventive weapons seen in a movie in some time. There’s a screenwriting phrase called “charging the object,” in which a prop is imbued with emotional meaning and significance, giving it dramatic heft in the story. Indiana Jones’ hat is one example, and the dragon mace is another. It looks innocuous at first, but during the climactic end it becomes one of the most entertaining action props since Odd Job’s decapitating hat. I won’t spoil the fun by describing it in further detail, except to say I’m sure people will be leaving the theater shouting “break!”

In terms of kung fu movies and mystery movies, Detective Dee offers very little that is new. But the fact that it combines both is novel enough, and a lot of fun to watch. There are also a lot of nice touches, especially with the characters. We’re introduced to an overzealous albino detective, a curiously androgynous female companion, and a host of scheming royalty who never seem to be sure which side they’re on.

And yes, there is a fight with a deer. Specifically, about three deer. Three talking deer. It’s a fun scene, and one of the better action scenes in the whole movie. The oddest thing about a kung fu fight against talking woodland animals is that it’s not campy.

Probably the best scenes involve a skyscraper sized statue of a Buddha. Again, I won’t give anything away. But the fact I mention it at all should be a clue that something really cool happens.

A thoughtful, unique action/mystery, Detective Dee and the Mystery of the Phantom Flame is worth not only a look, but also the inevitable franchise that should follow.

Snooki had a book on the New York Times bestseller list. Just let that sink in for a little bit. Still reading, or are you packing a Bible and a month’s supply of water for the upcoming apocalypse? The Kardashian sisters are world famous celebrities earning millions. Their talent is . . . . anyone know? Think. Think really hard. Still don’t know? You’re not alone. But there they are.

Reality shows have become a powerful medium for making people rich and famous. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. If millions of people are willing to shell out hard earned cash, forego food and rent to buy the latest celebrity bio and whatnot, well, there must be a good reason. Millions of people can’t be wrong. Then again, millions of people once believed the sun revolved around the earth. Millions of people once believed in the superiority of the Aryan race. Okay, maybe I’m going too far. But the fact remains that the reality format can have a huge influence in the media and popular mindset.

But what if networks decided to use this force for good? Here are my thoughts on how that could happen. I present show ideas that can be both entertaining and can make the world a better place.

The Real World, With Stephen Hawking

The Real World, aired on MTV, was perhaps the first break out reality hit in America. It chronicled the real lives of everyday people living in everyday cities. What it taught us was that real people have perfect abs and live in luxury apartments, have no responsibilities and nothing better to do than bitch about each other.

How about a show that really talked about the real world? I present to you Stephen Hawking. One of the greatest scientific minds of the modern world. As a matter of fact, it’s a safe argument that he possesses one of the greatest minds in history. He held the post of Lucasian Professor of Mathematics at the University of Cambridge for 30 years, taking up the post in 1979 and retiring on 1 October 2009, following in the footsteps of Isaac Newton. He’s made giant strides in the study of cosmology (not too be confused with cosmetology, a sticking point if he gets his reality show) and quantum gravity, presenting theories on black holes. In short, he’s the leading authority on how the universe works.

That’s right, the whole universe. Everything. Never mind the real world. This is the real universe. Throw him in a house with a bunch of twenty-somethings and have them learn about the formation of planets and galaxies. Have them contemplate how the world came about. Let them discuss theoretical physics. This, finally, is how the real world works. Really.

And did I mention he has motor neurone disease and can only communicate via computer? That he is slowly becoming completely paralyzed? There’s a second human interest story here. Is he blessed with an American Apparel physique and high cheekbones? No. He just used the brains he was given. Confined to a wheel chair, this man reached out into the heart and soul of space. And, like Snooki, he has had a best selling book. She had A Shore Thing (get it?) while he wrote A Brief History of Time. Yet he can’t get a reality show. The shame of it all.

The Somali Shore

Jersey has sunny beaches, right? You know where else you can find sunny beaches? Somalia! Do you like watching people who disregard the rules? There’s no government in Somalia, so there are no rules! Yay! And audiences love to watch what happens when people hook up for meaningless sex. Imagine if the stakes were raised. Say, if the hook up led to AIDS. Wouldn’t that capture people’s attention? Actually, shouldn’t that capture people’s attention?

Civil War. Genocide. Widespread AIDS. Poverty. Somalia is not a nice place to be. Most in the Western world shudder in guilt when they hear about the tragic conditions in this country. The problems in Somalia are so great and dire that most in the western world can’t even comprehend them. Why not set up a weekly television show where we allowed people to witness this disaster first hand? People are already willing to buy the “-red” shirts from the Gap, so they must care already, right? See, there’s a built in audience.

And besides, they have pirates in Somalia. Everybody loves pirates!

The Tutus

Desmond Tutu. Archbishop. Human rights activist. AIDS activist. During Apartheid, Tutu campaigned the world, asking countries to work with him to pressure South Africa to end Apartheid. And you know what? It actually worked. He had some help (Nelson Mandela, etc). Since then, he’s continued to fight for human rights across the world. He’s also set up a foundation to fight the spread of AIDS in Africa.

Also, as evidenced in interviews, he’s just kind of . . . well, adorable. Believe it or not, he’s very funny. And charming. Who wouldn’t want to watch someone like that on tv? Follow his life, hear what he has to say. “There is no future without forgiveness” is one of his mantras. Has any statement on human relations been so simple yet so radical? And it makes so much sense. Much along the same lines as another man, who could have a potential rival television show . . .

Dalai knows best

The man most people know as the Dalai Lama is in fact named Tenzin Gyatso. “Dalai Lama” is the title of the highest leader in Gelug Buddhism. Specifically, Tenzin Gyatso is the 14th Dalai Lama, and will be referred to as “Dalai Lama” for the remainder of the article.

The Dalai Lama came to prominence when he was exiled from his home in Tibet, the direct result of oppression by the Chinese government. His story has been retold in two movies, one directed by Martin Scorsese. Numerous books have been written about him, and he himself has written numerous books.

The story of his exile, and his fight for Tibetan freedom, alone make for a great and worthy subject. But above all, at least in the media, he has been a proponent of his Buddhist beliefs. In the many books and speeches he has given, a recurring theme has been compassion. Relating to your fellow human being to understand that person better. Look at any picture of him, and he just radiates kindness and benevolence.

Imagine what he could do for the cast of the Jersey Shore or Big Brother. With all their in-fighting and feuds. And imagine him bringing peace and harmony to this poor conflicted group. Then again, maybe you shouldn’t.

The Apprentice, with Kim Jong-il

King Jong-il is the leader of the Democratic People’s Republic of North Korea. If that sounds too formal, you may simply refer to him as “supreme leader.” Informally, the people of Korea refer to him as “our father.” Appropriate enough, if you come from a fucked up family.

Kim Jong-il has been called by many pundits a mass murderer, for the fact that thousands in North Korea die every year from poverty and starvation. What has he done about it? He created a glistening, modern city meant to be the envy of Asia. The only thing missing from this city is people. It’s in fact a fake city, built within eyes hot of the South Korea border, to make people think everything is okay. Denial, the first sign of a dysfunctional family.

This man has also publicly flouted all attempts at maintaining peace. He builds nuclear reactors despite threats that this will invite invasions from other countries. He even authorized the construction of a nuclear missile, then launched it in the direction of the United States. apparently not content with bringing strife to his own subjects, he wants to threaten peace world wide.

But hey, there must be a reason behind all this crazy behavior, right? Deep inside, don’t you think he’s doing this because he wasn’t hugged enough as a kid? Maybe he wants to be loved. Or he wants to be empowered. Coudln’t we just make his life better, make him happier and secure. And wouldn’t that give him self-esteem, and end all this psychotic world threatening kerfuffle?

Let’s have some of our youngest and brightest financial minds go to North Korea, and turn that economy right side up. From lemonade stands to fashion shows, they could demonstrate how they could bring money and stability to the country of North Korea. Go through competitions, and the last one standing gets to become Kim Jon-il’s economic advisor. Turn his frown upside down. Get much needed food and medicine to the starving people. And if Kim Jon-il’s really not the product of low self-esteem, if he really is a crazed megalomaniac bent on world domination, well, he can just follow Donald Trump’s example and build hotels and buildings all over the world. Woudln’t a gaudy obsidian and gold monument to one’s ego be more preferable than a long ranged missile?

And wouldn’t it be fun to watch? Some modifications from the original would have to he made. The catch phrase “you’re fired” would have to be more personalized and unique, replaced with the phrase “you will now be executed by the will of the people.” Catchy, eh? And wouldn’t you get a so-guilty-I-should-be-in-jail thrill from seeing him say that to yet another self-absorbed, money hungry Wall Street executive? Now that’s television.

to learn more about Desmond Tutu and his mission, in non-snarky context, please go to: